


The Irradiative Man

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Game(s), Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6599077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2058, and the ageless Cabot family needs a new man-of-all-work. Wanted: military background, acceptable manners, an open mind with regards to Jack's incomprehensible work, Lorenzo's incarceration, and the serum that keeps them all immortal.<br/>Also, aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehussy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehussy/gifts).



The current candidate is in his early thirties; possessed of a not insignificant history in private security, though lacking in actual military experience. His single glowing reference comes hand-penned in fountain ink from a close friend of Mother’s. That alone is enough to disqualify him.

“The Wards speak highly of you, at least,” Jack says. He’d rather not. Rather just skip directly to the dismissal and get it over with; he has a great many more hopefuls to interview. Another glance at the clock confirms that it’s been ten minutes since he last looked. Lunch was a hurried sandwich and thermos of coffee, snatched in a guilty five minutes, what feels like centuries ago. Words cannot describe how much he’d rather not spend another second in this draughty, unheated room.

But. He did place the advertisement. He owes it to everyone to make sure they all get a fair trial, so to speak. Tedious though it is.

“Why exactly are you leaving your current position? I hear the job market isn’t exactly booming…” He doesn’t pay much attention to such things himself, but Daniel assures him this is the case. And the reason why the waiting room outside is packed up like a shipment of sardines.

“Bit of bother with the family,” says the candidate- _Matthew_ , his application form reads. The second one of the day. “Old Mister Ward got thinking I had a thing for the daughter.”

“Well…did you?” Jack asks before he can stop himself.

The man shrugs. “More like she had a thing for me. Not that I’d have said no if she offered.”

 _Emogene would like this one,_ Jack thinks, already mentally shredding his references.

“Right then,” he says in what he hopes is a brisk tone. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind. Daniel will contact you within the week to let you know of the outcome.”

“Cheers, Mr Cabot.”

“Yes. Um. Safe travels.”

He leaves with a swagger Jack’s growing familiar with; this is the fourth candidate to come equipped with a neat reference letter from a family friend, which is to say _Mother’s_ friends, which is to say that she’s been meddling again. She does this, on occasion. Decides she wants to play a part in the hiring of the help. Never mind that she takes little to no interest in any of them once they join the household; never mind her tendency to declare an instant dislike to any new face under the family roof. Still, she meddles.

_Oh, Jack. Can’t this tiresome business wait for the new year? It’s barely a month until Christmas, I’m absolutely swamped with work for the party, and Emogene’s never at home these days- do you know how long it takes to write out all these invitations? Why can’t you put the family first, for once? Daniel isn’t going to retire within the next month._

Only, the new year won’t be convenient either, because there never is a convenient time to locate someone for Daniel’s role. Someone willing to give the rest of their working life to the Cabot family- a good forty years, at least. Anything less is a risk he can’t afford to take. The fewer people who know about Lorenzo at any given time, the better for everyone.

Daniel passed his sixtieth birthday with little fanfare, and a replacement should have been found several years ago. Jack blames himself for the delay. His experiments were looking so _promising_. Such hope for success, in these last few years. Sky-high hopes, and the inevitable Icarus plummet of failure. Some years he feels like nothing less than a human yo-yo.

Better not mention that particular comparison to Emogene. As if she needs anything else to tease him over.

A whole day devoted to interviews. Jack wouldn’t go so far as to call himself antisocial, but he’ll readily admit he’s far outside his comfort zone here. The hired conference room is too spacious, too cold, better suited to company meetings than one-on-one interviews. Nobody knows where to sit at the damn table, and he finds himself forced to apologise for it every time. Though on the positive side, at least it leaves room for all the folders of references he’s been collecting. At this rate, he’ll need to buy a paper shredder for the household to get rid of it all. Unless Emogene wants to take the lot and turn it into some sort of strange modern art piece. Her current beau is a sculptor, he thinks. Or perhaps a painter. Something artistic he doesn’t properly understand. Art was never his area of expertise.

Not that science is faring any better these days. Another year, another round of failures. It might be time to return to his work on Abremaline fields for a few decades; give himself and Lorenzo a measure of peace, for a bit. What he needs is a new approach. Clear away the debris and start afresh; perhaps he should consider some time away from the laboratory. An overseas trip. The family isn’t due for another ‘generational shift’ for a few decades yet, but Emogene speaks highly of Europe as a source of inspiration.

Though he does remember Daniel mentioning something about fuel rationing, and the soaring cost of travel. Expense is of no consequence, but danger is another matter. There is…a war on, he thinks, unless that’s already been settled. Hard to recall. He really should take more of an interest in current events.

War, famine, disease epidemic, nuclear threat. Possibly the most depressing decade he’s lived through so far. And through it all, Lorenzo remains in his cage. His father is still suffering.

Over a century ago (one hundred and sixty four years, but who’s counting), his father left on that final, fateful expedition. No different from the others; Jack wasn’t in the habit of seeing him off. A pointless endeavour, the tearful farewell on the docks. Cliché. Embarrassment. An unsightly spectacle. Puffed up with imagined shame, he’d never waved Lorenzo off.

In his father’s absence, Jack found himself railing against the pangs of separation pain, the anxiety in between correspondences. He’d walk to the harbour. Drive to the port and wander for hours, watching the waves. Only good days. Sunshine, no wind; safe days. He recalls the comfort those days granted him. The blue unparalleled of sky and sea, the endless inspiration of a clear horizon. The hope of a safe return.

Jack tugs his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. The room manages to be both too cold and too dry at the same time; the headache he’s been incubating for some three hours is feeling good and ready to break out of its shell and start wreaking havoc. God only knows how many candidates are left. Daniel gave him a list. He stopped actually looking at it around midday. There could be a hundred candidates left. A thousand. As many as the stars in the sky.

 _Great, flaming balls of gas_ , he thinks. _Appropriate._ He sets his glasses down on the glass conference table and rubs at his eyes with both hands.

Of course, the door picks that moment to click gently open. Jack doesn’t raise his head. He doesn’t pray, but he _hopes_ it’s Daniel coming to tell him everyone else got bored and left.

 _Uncharitable_ , he chides himself. _They only came to look for work, and work is scarce these days. Be the better man. Lorenzo would._

It is not, of course, Daniel, because that would be too simple. And Daniel would knock before entering; forty years of service have made him no less formal around the family. Such a shame. An excess of formality at home makes for uncomfortable circumstances, Jack’s always found. Mother feels differently. A generational preference, because for once Emogene is on Jack’s side. Now there’s a rare state of affairs.

He doesn’t hear the newcomer approach, but there’s the rustle of paper as he places his folder of references on the table. And Jack really is being terribly rude, ignoring the candidate. Being a terrible disappointment.

“Forgive me,” he says, giving his eyes a last rub. “It’s just that this room is so dry-”

There is a gentle hand closing around his forearm, tugging it away from his face. Jack is so shocked by the contact, he doesn’t think to resist.

“Don’t do that,” the newcomer says. “Just makes it worse, trust me.”

“Also allows for droplet transmission of infected agents,” Jack mutters. “The eyes being a susceptible mucosal surface, and assuming my hands aren’t clean. I‘m fairly sure they are. But I wouldn’t actually know without a microscope of significant strength, and I left mine back at the laboratory.” He looks up at the newest candidate for Daniel’s job- and keeps looking up, craning his neck, until the newcomer has the decency to perch on the table at his side. It only shaves a few inches off his frame.

“I understood maybe half of what you just said,” the man admits. He doesn’t seem too troubled by it. Blurry, though; Jack’s glasses are on the table somewhere, and without them all he has is fuzz and lanky silhouette. Fumbling for them now would just make things worse.

“Forgive me,” Jack says again. “I’m not sure what’s come over me. It’s been-” _A long day_ , he wants to say, but somewhere along the line the platitudes get tangled up with the truth, and what comes out-

“It’s been a long life,” he finds himself confessing.

The other man raises his eyebrows, clearly taking Jack in, making an estimate as to his age. There can’t be more than a few years between them, he’ll be thinking. The reality is a lot different. But Jack shouldn’t have let any kind of hint slip in the first place. He’s not sure what came over him; he’s positive Lorenzo would never have made such a mistake.

“Sure,” the man says. “A lot of people would agree with you, these days. Guess that’s what happens when all you ever hear is how the world might end at any minute. And… I’m not trying to be too forward here, but are you okay?”

 _No,_ is Jack’s immediate answer. His pride chases it up with a _none of your damn business, how dare you_ , though guilt quashes that quickly enough and demands that he apologise again. He swallows.

“Just a bit chilly,” he manages. “I’m not sure what happened to the heating in this building, I could have sworn it was up and running this morning.”

“Energy rationing,” says his companion. “You didn’t know? Government’s had that policy in place for three months now. There’s shortages again.”

Jack didn’t know. Not that he pays much attention to current events; he tends to leave that to Daniel and the rest, though Emogene also takes an odd sort of interest, and often regales them with all sorts of inappropriate tales over the breakfast table. But she never mentioned this. Cabot House never suffers from any kind of shortage.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jack says, clearing his throat. “I don’t suppose you see my glasses anywhere? Stupid of me to take them off, now I can’t even see you properly.”

“Here.” For a moment Jack thinks the other man will actually go so far as to put them back on for him; he’s a little relieved when the frames are simply held out within easy reach, close enough for him to make them out.

World back in focus, Jack blinks several times and looks up.

He’s instantly struck by the man’s eyes.

Over a century ago (a hundred and sixty four years, he never stops counting) he’d walk by the sea and take comfort in its stillness. Its rhythm. The back and forth of tides, as steady and predictable as day and night; a metronome in blue and bluer. It calmed him. The memory still does.

This man has sea eyes; Jack thinks it and recoils from the excessive sentimentality, more Emogene’s aptitude than his. No, it’s not a love poem. It’s lazy, anyway, to compare any and all sets of lovely blue eyes to the boundless ocean, simply because of a chance overlap in pigment coloration. He’s above that sort of thing. He is. The colour is irrelevant, and what he actually means is-

This man has the calmest eyes he’s ever seen. Jack looks up at him, and instantly breathes easier.

“Better now?” the man asks patiently. Referring to Jack’s vision, of course. It’s not as if he can read minds. Probably.

“Much.”

“Glad to hear it.” His smile is as calm as his eyes. Still perched on the table, he offers a hand; it takes Jack a few seconds to catch on to the intention and grasp it. “We never got introduced; I’m Edward Deegan.”

“Jack Cabot, at your service.” The reply is instinctive. The grip on his hand is firm without being crushing.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mister Cabot,” Edward tells him. “Listen.”

“Yes?”

“Something’s bothering you,” Edward says. “And I don’t know what that is, but trust me; I can take care of it for you. Whatever it is, I’ll sort it out.” He sounds so sure. So untroubled. Jack releases his hand slowly and finds himself feeling soothed.

 _Blast,_ he thinks distantly. _I don’t even know if he has a military background. Daniel was insistent that he should_.

“I suppose I’d better look at your references then,” he says, and finds the folder at his elbow. Flips it open and tries to focus on the résumé inside, the history of this man he already wants to keep. Such calm eyes. Stillness.

“Do you have any military experience- oh. I’m looking right at it. Stationed in Mexico? That must have been interesting. I’ve never been to Mexico myself, my sister is more the traveller. Um. Which is to say. It says here you finished your tour over there and then left the army as soon as you returned.”

“It does,” Edward agrees. “I’ve spent the last three years in private security. Doesn’t tend to pay as well, but I sleep better at night.”

“What?” Jack looks up at him, frowning. “Army life didn’t suit you? Or…something wrong with Mexico?”

“You really don’t pay much attention to the news, do you?” There’s no judgment in Edward’s tone. “Can’t say I blame you. There wasn’t anything good about what we did in Mexico; it was an invasion, plain and simple. All our leaders wanted was the oil. I left because I was done with being told to gun down unarmed civilians.”

 _Imperialism at its finest,_ Jack thinks. He wishes he could say he was surprised. He isn’t. The world has been at war with itself for the entire duration of his unnatural lifespan. One more invasion is just par on course for history as he knows it.

“Well, I can promise that I won’t be asking you to shoot civilians,” he says firmly.

“I appreciate it,” Edward tells him.

“And…then three years in private security, right. Are these all references? That’s…a lot.”

“I do good work.”

It’s not a boast; Edward says it as the plain truth, as if this is the very least Jack should expect from him. And he certainly _looks_ capable, insofar as Jack can tell, which is not very far at all. That sort of thing is for Daniel to check. Jack’s job is to find someone he can spend half a century working with.

He already knows it’ll be Edward. Nobody else so far has compared; nobody will. Shuffling through the pile of references, Jack finds no trace of the jitters that have plagued him all day. The bite of stress, the edge of anxiety.

Curious as ever, he experiments. Thinks about Mother, her upcoming annual Cabot Christmas party. Emogene and her artist paramour.

Lorenzo, Lorenzo, Lorenzo.

And yet, he’s still calm. As still as the seas at the harbour, and the discovery astounds him. It’s Edward; has to be. He towers over Jack, seated on the table as he is, and that should feel somewhat threatening. Intrusive. Jack’s never coped with being loomed over while he works.

 _How odd,_ he thinks. _I feel rather safe, actually. Not at all as if he’s intimidating me. Which, of course he isn’t, what a ridiculous thought. He has such calm eyes. He left the army to stop shooting civilians._

Jack shuffles paperwork. “Everything seems to be in order, Mister Deegan,” he says.

“Edward,” the other man corrects. He does it gently, as if making a request. “Please.”

“Jack,” is the natural response, and Jack finds himself offering a hand- only to realise, too late, that they shook on it a mere few minutes ago, and the introductions are already done with. He feels his ears start to heat. At least part of him will be warm, though seeing as it comes at the expense of his pride, he thinks he’d rather shiver.

And then Edward clasps his hand, same as before. He’s smiling; there’s nothing cruel about it. Nothing mocking. He lets go, and the moment has passed, and nobody is embarrassed by it at all.

 _Oh,_ Jack thinks. _You really are quite good at your job. That was very well managed. Tactful. Thank you._

“My mother will love you,” he says. He’s not sure why it slips out, but Edward’s smile widens.

“Bet you say that to all the guys,” he says wryly; Jack finds himself startled into sudden laughter. It’s too loud, too graceless. It’s the most relaxed he’s been all day.

“I really don’t,” he says earnestly. “She tends to hate any new hires. Takes her a year at least to get used to any of them. But I’m positive she’ll like you. My sister too- watch out for her, she’ll probably flirt to see what happens. She finds it amusing.”

“Think I can probably handle that,” Edward says. Jack is inclined to agree. “I notice you haven’t mentioned yourself.”

“Yes, I expect I should probably…tell you a few things. I’m a scientist. Also psychiatrist; I divide my time between my home laboratory and my duties as Superintendent at Parsons State Insane Asylum.” He’s pleased to find a total lack of reaction at that. So many people tend towards the squeamish when Parsons is mentioned. He can’t think why; the most frightening inmate is kept well out of harm’s way, after all.  None of the others can compare.

“Scientist _and_ psychiatrist?” Edward asks. “What, you didn’t want to throw a law degree on the pile too? I’m almost disappointed.”

Sarcasm isn’t something Jack is very familiar with; when he identifies it, he’s momentarily stunned.

And then delighted.

“I assure you, I make it a point to be constantly educating myself,” he says. “But I also know that if you teleported me to a Mexican war zone right this second, I’d be as lost as you would be in my laboratory. So fair’s fair. Oh! And I suppose I should ask. I mean, I insist, with everyone I’m hiring-” he pauses to clear his throat. Unheard of; he’s never been shy about this particular question. It’s of such extreme importance- a person’s answer reveals a lot about their biases, and their openness to new discoveries. He has no use for a locked-box mind. He clears his throat again.

“No, I’m not married,” Edward says, and Jack blinks at him. “Or seeing anyone. No family either. I don’t have any commitments that might get in the way of the job, and I’m not leaving my current position for any reason other than they decided to downsize the staff. Yeah, I smoke; tobacco only. On rare occasions I’ll drink, but not often, and not all that much. I don’t have any skeletons in my closet. You want to dig for some anyway, I won’t hold it against you. For safety’s sake, you should. Did that about cover your question?”

“Um,” Jack says. “Actually, no. Do you believe there is other intelligent life in the universe?”

Edward doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then-

“As in, aliens?” he asks tentatively.

“No, no, nothing so ridiculous. I’m more talking about the pre-historic powers that founded human civilization.”

“So…aliens. That’s your question.”

“Non-human precursor- look. It is of the utmost importance to me,” Jack protests. “The work I do, I…” He pauses to gather his thoughts. It’s not normally like this. It doesn’t normally matter quite so much that he make himself understood to a stranger.

He’s comforted by the lack of ridicule in Edward’s expression. There’s surprise, of course, and Jack would expect no less. An element of wariness; he’s not sure this isn’t some kind of joke. But he’s also too polite to ask. Certainly too good to laugh in Jack’s face, as others have.

 _Oh, please,_ Jack thinks. _A chance, that’s all I’m asking. Just show me that you’re willing to listen._

“My father,” he begins. A part of himself is watching in a sort of detached, horrified trance as he spills the family history to a total stranger. “Was…well, many things, but archaeology was chief among his interests. He made certain discoveries among a set of Arabian ruins. I’ve been building on his work since he- left us.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Edward says quietly. As platitudes go, it’s really not necessary; Lorenzo is _gone_ , it’s true, but not forever. Not permanently. Just until his son can bring him home.

Still, he’s touched by the obvious sympathy.

“It was a long time ago,” Jack says. Truer words were never spoken. “The important thing is, he discovered something that, despite all my work, I still don’t truly understand. And it’s _not_ aliens,” he adds, a thread of irritation entering his tone. “That’s just tabloid hysteria and fakery, and I won’t give it the dignity of consideration. I mean, _really_.”

“Too weird for you?” Edward says wryly.

“Scientifically implausible, to say the least.”

“So we’re not going on field trips to measure crop circles? That’s a shame.”

“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously at all,” Jack says. “And anyway, I get hay fever.” He’s a little disappointed, but not exactly surprised. It would have been far too much to ask for this man to just take him at his word. He remembers Daniel laughed in his face, the first time Jack asked him. Edward, at least, seems happy just to tease him.

Edward stretches his unnecessarily long legs out in front of him. “Tell you what,” he says. “I’m not judging. You’re the boss, you get to believe whatever you want. And I’ll promise to keep an open mind to what you’re doing. What I think doesn’t really come into it anyway; you’re hiring a bodyguard, not a lab partner.”

 _But I want you to believe me,_ Jack thinks. He tells himself it doesn’t matter at this juncture; he has more than enough demonstrable evidence, not in the least of which is the Serum. The most sceptical man in the world would have a difficult time arguing in the face of immortality. And he gets the sense that Edward won’t fight him on this, given solid proof.

“I do value your thoughts,” Jack says. “As I do for all my employees, whether they be bodyguards, or gardeners, or solicitors, or Mother’s maid- the one who giggles every time she sees me, I’m not really sure why. The singed eyebrows might have been a bit odd, on reflection. But those mended themselves last month.”

“Sounds like I’ll have my work cut out for me,” Edward says. He shrugs; the prospect doesn’t seem to trouble him in the slightest. “You set a lot of things on fire?”

“It’s a fairly regular occurrence at this stage of my research.”

“Damn,” Edward says frankly. And then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“I tend to have a similar reaction,” Jack admits. “Only with more shouting. The trick is to make sure Mother doesn’t hear any of it. She’s something of a traditionalist, if you catch my meaning.”

“I’m scared of her already.”

“Very wise. I often feel the same way myself.”

It’s very easy to _talk_ to Edward. He projects such calm; there’s an indulgent air to his patience, but Jack is so unaccustomed to being indulged. Ignored, laughed at, dismissed, yes. So few people will let him talk freely for his own sake. He doesn’t think he knows anyone who’d perch on the edge of a table next to him and discuss the misfortune of singed eyebrows as a result of scientific endeavour.

Lorenzo would certainly not approve.

 Jack is suddenly, fervently determined that his father and Edward should never meet.

“So,” Edward says. “Aliens- sorry, _non-human precursors_ ,” and he pronounces it so carefully, something he’s clearly never said before, “Lab explosions, family I need to watch out for. Anything else you want to warn me about in advance? You keep a crazy wife locked up in the attic?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Our Mr Handy is prone to spontaneous bouts of unwanted French, if that counts? I think Emogene did something to the programming. She knows my French isn’t exactly-”

There’s a tap on the door, and Daniel enters.

Jack is very much aware of Edward shifting closer to him, turning to face the new arrival. It’s only when he has to lean over to see Daniel’s raised eyebrows that he realises Edward is effectively blocking off any attack from the doorway. An irritable job candidate would have to shoot through a solid wall of muscle and bone to hit Jack.

Astounding. He hadn’t even noticed he was being protected.

He taps Edward’s elbow gently. “It’s alright,” he says. “Daniel is perfectly trustworthy. I’ve known him forty years, he’s had more than enough opportunity to harm me- and I’m sure I’ve caused him plenty of inconvenience.”

“Force of habit,” Edward says, giving Daniel an amicable nod. Daniel nods back. It all looks very military; Jack is fascinated by the abrupt camaraderie between the two.

“Just thought I’d check in, Mr Cabot,” Daniel says. “None of the others lasted longer than five minutes.”

Jack glances at the clock. Twenty minutes talking to Edward; he would have been happy to continue. He’s already looking forward to showing off his laboratory, his myriad experiments, his handful of successes. He wants to see those calm eyes widen in wonder. Acknowledgment of his genius. That he’s every bit the scientist Lorenzo was.

“Daniel, this is Edward,” he says. “And I very much hope we’ll be keeping him. If he doesn’t mind, of course.” He glances up at Edward for confirmation.

“Sure,” Edward says. “Consider me kept. You want me to get rid of the leftovers for you?” He gestures towards the door, as if it’s the easiest thing, as if the rejected parties will just leave when he tells them to.

They might.

“Please,” Jack says.

“Done.”

He’s right, as it turns out. It really is that simple.

Two days later, Jack signs him on officially, and Daniel begins the arduous but necessary task of training the family bodyguard. It’ll be a year or so before he can be entrusted with the knowledge of Lorenzo; months before Jack can justify revealing the Serum. A demonstration is usually the best way to handle the revelation. Emogene tends to handle it; one would almost think she enjoys letting herself age intentionally for the performance. But it’s better to give the new employee some time to settle into the household first. That’s how things have always been done. Emogene’s next dosage is due in three months.

Jack’s is sooner.

Three weeks after Edward joins Cabot House, Jack skips his Serum dosage for long enough to make his point.

“Do you see?” he asks; his hair is already greying nicely, his face folding into soft wrinkles. His hands lack the tremor they’ll no doubt acquire if he leaves things too long, but that won’t be an issue. He raises his eyebrows, and Edward raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Aliens? Good to know.”

“ _Non-human precursors_ , now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my usual self. I daresay your hands are steadier than mine. If you could- thank you,”

Five minutes later he’s back to his usual self, and Edward-

Stays.

It feels like the start of a brand new chapter in history.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 2287, and Lorenzo Cabot is dead. Edward is wounded; Jack might be free. The world is full of miracles that someone really should explain, and Jack has _questions_.  
>  But first things first: he needs to find a suitable hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted from the Fallout kinkmeme. The original prompt/fill can be found [here](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=16771783#t16771783).

“Ground floor,” coos the elevator; the doors scrape their way open, and Jack doesn’t move.

 _I’m sorry, Father_ , he thinks. It’s not the first time. It seems to be the only thing he’s capable of anymore; impotent apologies, all regret, no action. Four hundred years and he couldn’t come up with a cure. Defensive force fields, yes. The world’s most powerful jail cell. A weapon with which to murder his captive. All this and more, but a cure was beyond his abilities.

He doesn’t know how he’ll break the news to Mother.

At loss for anything else to do, he steps out into what used to be his office, when his work still required it. Some two hundred years ago. One tends to lose track, when the years begin blurring, and he has so few good memories of this place. So many difficult decisions made. So many failures that could have been avoided.

“You’re back.” It’s a sign of Jack’s distraction that he doesn’t immediately register the not-quite question, the uncertainty in Edward’s tone that suggests he both wasn’t and isn’t sure it was a possibility.

Jack turns to blink down at him. Edward. On the floor. Edward on the floor with the dust and dirt and god knows what else. Mice droppings. Insects. “You’re still here.”

“What, is there someplace else you wanted me to be?” Edward doesn’t roll his eyes, because of course that would be uncouth and very much beneath him. He doesn’t move at all, except to incline his head a fraction. He looks Jack up and down, clouded blue eyes hazed with worry. “You get everything sorted out downstairs?”

He asks as if he doesn’t already know. As if the failure isn’t carved into Jack’s face already. Edward’s never had problems reading his feelings. His secrets, all the things he couldn’t say; Jack himself can’t manage a similar astuteness, but Edward has never held that against him. Has always seemed to know when to comfort, to sympathise, to apply sarcasm like the surgeon’s scalpel until cancerous discouragement peels away.

 _You’re an easy read, Jack,_ he once said. _Can’t lie worth a damn; your face gives you away every time._

 _A Rosetta Stone to my inner thoughts,_ Jack joked weakly. _Careful what you do with that knowledge._

_What I always do. Make sure no one gets to hurt you, or the family._

Jack staggers over to the wall at Edward’s side, slumping against it. He feels so strange. Weightless. He looks around the room and finds it hazy. Like peering through a curtain. The truth is veiled. And it seems his legs don’t want to hold him up any longer; he can’t blame them for demanding a break, after everything. He leans against the wall and lets himself slide until he reaches the ground.

Edward is conveniently within leaning distance. Thoughtful of him. He’s always like that. Jack props himself up against his bodyguard’s shoulder and stares up at the ceiling.

Filthy. Maybe he should give some thought to hiring a maid service of some kind. Though Mother would begrudge the expense, and Emogene would laugh at him for being finicky. Maybe Edward can find someone _on the sly_ , as they say. With proper discretion and plausible deniability and all that. Given how good he is at hiring people.

“Edward,” Jack begins, and then forgets what he was going to say.

He feels Edward raise his shoulder slightly. “Hey, Jack. How’re you doing.”

“Exceptional,” Jack says. “I just murdered my father.”

There is a period of silence after that. Seconds, maybe; hours maybe. It’s hard to keep track of time. Edward said that, sometime earlier. He was right. He usually is. Somewhat ironic, given that Jack is supposed to be the man of science, and Edward is his equal in neither intellect nor social standing.

Not that either of them has ever cared.

“Damn,” Edward says eventually. Seconds; hours. Doesn’t really matter, and Jack feels himself smiling slightly. It’s a rare occasion that Edward doesn’t know how to respond to something.

“In cold blood, no less,” he says. “Or…maybe not? He was still in his cell, but it was a close thing. Terribly close. Lucky that new hire of yours was around to pull the appropriate levers; I must remember to give him some sort of bonus. Do you think he’d like an interesting new gun? He seems the type. Anyway, he assisted me, but I pressed the big, red button, as it were. Cold blood. Or not. Does it count as cold blood if Lorenzo was very graphic in his desire to murder me and everyone I care about? He’d have got to you eventually, I don’t doubt, though I’m also sure he would have wanted to take his time with _me_. He’s certainly said so on many occasions.”

Edward breathes out heavily. “In that case, I want to revise my reaction.”

“Noted,” Jack says. “What did you want to change it to?”

“About damn time.” Edward lifts his head, and Jack finds himself fixed in place by a particularly cold expression. He wants to protest that he doesn’t deserve it. But maybe he does.

“I suppose I-“

“You should have asked me to do it centuries ago,” Edward tells him. “If he was that much of a risk, if one screw-up was going to get you killed- yeah. You should have asked me to take care of it.”

Something very warm blossoms in Jack’s stomach; a stark contrast to the cold that seems to pervade the rest of him. “I was going to save my father,” he says. “The risk was worthwhile. The real Lorenzo would have forgiven me. He’d have told me he was proud that I never surrendered, even in the face of insurmountable failure. He was very much the same himself, you know.”

“I don’t give a damn what he was like,” Edward says. “It’s his son I’m concerned with.”

 _His son is nothing_ , Jack thinks. _In four centuries, his son couldn’t manage to free him from his curse. And now… it’s over._

Quite aside from his bereavement, there are more practical matters to consider. The Serum, for one. The antidote to age itself. He has enough stocked away to keep himself in his current state for another century; less that, if shared with Emogene and Mother. Thirty years each, give or take a few.  The merest blink of an eye compared to what they’ve lived so far.

He wouldn’t mind another century. It’s not as if he’d be alone.

“I never gave much thought as to what I’d do after Lorenzo,” Jack says. He fumbles for one of Edward’s hands; his own are so abominably cold. He thinks his teeth might be chattering. In the end he finds one wedged under his thigh, holding up most of Edward’s weight; the other is wrapped tight across his abdomen and doesn’t seem inclined to budge.

Jack settles for resting his hand on top of Edward’s free one. He’s somewhat disappointed to find that neither of them is particularly warm.

“I spent so long having nightmares about that man,” he confesses. Squeezes Edward’s hand; the texture is bark-like, rough. Mummified. He’s never minded. Some people do, or so Edward tells him. “I’d see him escaping in the night. A fault in my systems, a flaw in my defences. And there he’d be, standing over my bed, waiting for me to wake up and realise. Like the monster from the closet. I can’t even remember what I dreamed he’d _do_ to me, but I was frightened nonetheless. So many nightmares.”

“I know,” Edward says.

“So you do.”

He does. More often than not, he’s the one who ends the horrors early. There can’t be many people in the world who enjoy waking up to faintly glowing ghoul eyes in the dark; old-parchment fingertips stroking their scalps; hoarse voice driving fear away by virtue of being a greater monster by comparison. There can’t be many who’d appreciate that.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Jack says. “You will be staying, won’t you? Even now there’s no Parsons to worry about?”

“Depends,” Edward says, more roughly than usual. “I might just bleed out all over your office. That’d be a shame.”

For the first time, Jack notes the laboured sound to Edward’s breathing. The way he presses hard on his abdomen, the way he avoids any unnecessary movement.

The hem of Jack’s laboratory coat clings to the ground. It feels damp, heavy.

“You’re hurt,” Jack says. Edward chuckles, a crackling sound like twigs in the fireplace. “Did…you want me to look at your wounds?”

“Nah,” Edward says lazily. “I’m happy to sit here and bleed. It’s fine.”

“Your sarcasm, while usually refreshing, is unhelpful at this particular juncture.” Jack forces sternness into his tone; it comes as easily as worry, and only now does it register how _wrong_ it is that Edward is still sitting here. On the awful, filthy floor, like a common beggar. He’s been here some hours, for sure. He shouldn’t have. He should be ensuring that the way to the exit is clear, for when Jack decides it’s time they go back to the main house.

If Edward is shirking his duties, then the damage is truly dire.

“Edward,” he says, swallowing hard. “Let me.”

“Don’t trouble yourself on _my_ account, Jack,” Edward drawls. “You never have before.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. You know full well how much trouble I’ve expended over you- if _trouble_ is the right word, and I’m not altogether sure it is. You might as well be family. You _are_ family. In my eyes, at least. And Mother’s terribly fond of you, she’s always calling you ‘Dear Edward’. She’s never called me Dear anything.” His hands are busy as he talks, plucking at the straps of Edward’s armour, tugging them free of their buckles. He’s a lot better at this than he used to be. The first time was a disaster that doesn’t bear thinking about. Edward still laughs about it occasionally, although, being Edward, he’s never unkind in his laughter.

“You know she only does that when she’s trying to piss you off,” Edward says patiently. He submits to having his chest plate peeled away. Underneath, his clothes are sodden.

“You should have said something,” Jack mutters. He’s not a medical doctor, by any means, but four hundred years of living means an awful lot of time to acquire all kinds of useful knowledge. And bullet wounds aren’t even a novelty anymore.

“You’re kidding me,” Edward says. “I should have said something? You mean, _Jack, I can’t stand up, they shot me full of more holes than your favourite cheese_  wasn’t obvious enough for you?”

“I was distracted-”

“Always nice to know you care,” Edward says. The sarcasm weighs heavy on his tongue; twice as cutting as it was before his transformation. Something about his altered vocal chords. Jack’s never managed to work out what.

The wounds don’t seem to be bleeding any further. He didn’t expect they would be; ghouls heal fast, and faster still when the skin is broken. Radioactivity is beneficial, after all, and ghoul blood is a Geiger counter’s walking nightmare. Edward’s healing process is drastically accelerated the moment he starts bleeding; a sort of mutant feedback loop. A beautiful thing.

“You’ll be alright,” Jack says. He finds himself disinclined to make eye contact. Not shame, of course; not at all. He’s busy tending to Edward’s wounds.

“Usually am,” Edward agrees.

“It’s wonderful, really. The human body is a miracle of adaptation. You’ve managed to create a sort of closed circuit, where your own wounds actually work towards healing you faster. Magnificent. And I never did manage to work out how you do it.” He gives Edward’s forearm a clumsy pat. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to your aid sooner.”

“Yeah, well, “ Edward says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to make sure you didn’t have to kill Lorenzo yourself. That’s rough. You alright?”

An interesting question. Jack gives it proper consideration.

He’s cold, still, and somewhat dazed. Still not altogether certain of what’s going on; there’s a dreamlike quality to his surroundings that is starting to upset him. Hopefully not some kind of last-ditch revenge on Lorenzo’s part. Could just be the shock. It really has been a very trying week.

 _The problem,_ he thinks, _The real crux of the matter is, I’m no longer sure what to do with myself._

“I’m a bit lost,” he admits. “If that makes sense.”

Edward reaches for his hand, squeezes it. “Yeah. I get that. You spent four centuries trying to fix him.”

“Despite the constant death threats, the taunts, the- everything.” Jack slumps back against the wall, trying to limit the amount of weight he’s leaning on poor Edward. Dear Edward, who so rarely complains about anything. _Steadfast, thy name is Edward_. “Perhaps I should have surrendered a long time ago. Too many people suffered because of my family’s secret.”

“Finished now,” Edward says. “So. What are you going to do? Where are we headed next?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Jack leans his head against the wall. He’s back to staring up at the ceiling, the water damage and stained plaster. He’ll be glad to be rid of this place. So many terrible memories.

 _This is where I left you for dead,_ he thinks idly, squeezing Edward’s hand hard enough that it must hurt- but ghouls are less sensitive to pain, as Edward has told him on countless occasions. _Though, to be fair, you practically ordered me to leave. For the family. Always, the family before anything else. Before you, before us. If I were a better man, I’d have done something about that a long time ago._

He leaves the ceiling alone for the moment, turning his head to look at Edward.

“If you could go anywhere, wherever your heart desired,” Jack says. “Within the limits of planet Earth, for the moment. Where would it be?”

Edward closes his eyes. “Anywhere apart from that goddamn house.”

“Cabot House?”

“That’s the one.”

“But why?” Jack asks. “It’s a better situation than most unfortunates have, these days. We’re all safe there. Yes, I’ll admit there are certain disadvantages to sharing the space with Mother and Emogene, not in the least is the considerable difficulties we- oh, alright,  it’s mostly you. Though I’d like to point out that I do occasionally undertake the moonlit journey down the stairs to visit _you_ instead.”

“Brave of you,” says Edward. He has the nerve to grin about it. As well he should; those particular encounters have a certain atmosphere to them that is lacking in daily life. A sensation of the tables being turned. A new balance of power, on Edward’s home turf. Jack is particularly fond of it, for reasons he’s never really investigated.

“Mother would tear me limb from limb, as you well know.”

“You realise you’re trapped, don’t you?”

“I-what?” _Must be in shock,_ Jack thinks. _I’m not hearing things correctly. Misunderstanding Edward, even, which is just ridiculous. He’s always very concise. Always clear about what he wants._

He’s aware that Edward is looking at him, and with an expression that might be considered pitying, if that wasn’t so thoroughly inappropriate in the moment.

“You really need me to point out how much you hate that place?” Edward asks gently. “I will, but you won’t thank me for it.”

“Why in god’s name would I hate Cabot House?” Jack asks. Sputters, even; he realises his mouth is hanging open, and closes it.

“You’re not happy.”

“I have my work, my books, my family-”

“Emogene’s around maybe half the time,” Edward says. “Rest of it, she’s anywhere but at home. If she didn’t need your Serum so bad, I don’t think she’d ever come back. It’s not like I could find her if she didn’t want me to. And as for Wilhelmina- she runs that house like she’s the goddamn queen. That’s her right. I get it, you all come from a different time, and she just never adapted. I don’t mind. But it’s crushing you.”

A difficult subject, Mother. Alone of the family, she misses the time before the bombs fell and rewrote history; the wealthy neighbours and dinner parties, clear-cut class system. Jack’s aware he can tend towards the imperious when he’s otherwise distracted. On occasion, he’ll order Edward around like a common lackey- but he can always be reined in by a pointed, _Yes, Mister Cabot_. He’s only ever domineering for the duration of Edward’s patience.

Mother never did allow him to step up as man of the household. He’s borne four centuries of constant reminders that Lorenzo’s return was just a matter of time. A matter of his skill. Caustic comments over dinner, masked as enquiries into his (lack of) progress. Reminders of his failure.

Jack tip-toes around his laboratory after ten in the evening, for fear of maternal reprisal. Yes, he hates that. He’ll admit it. Has done on numerous occasions to the ever-patient Edward, who has only ever been a rock of support. Despite the indignities forced upon him.

Tip-toeing around a laboratory is one thing; having to muffle himself in his own damn household is ridiculous- and after two hundred years, he really shouldn’t have to hide that on the rare nights he does sleep, he isn’t sleeping alone.

“You’ve never complained before,” Jack says. He wishes he could think clearly. Can’t seem to snatch a coherent idea from anywhere. His mind is stuffed with cotton wool.  “Is this new?”

“Been there from the start,” Edward tells him. “But I never wanted to rock the boat. It’s your life, you live it however suits you. Or doesn’t suit you, whatever.”

“And you think I’m miserable?” Jack considers it. He doesn’t need all that long. “Yes, I suppose I am. Typical of you to notice before I did.”

Edward rolls his shoulders, stretching slowly. Testing the yield of newly-knitted skin. _Miraculous_. “The first time we met, I told you I’d take care of whatever it was that made you look like you couldn’t even remember what happy felt like. I haven’t done that. I failed you, Jack, and I regret it. Can’t tell you how much.”

“You didn’t,” Jack protests. He sits up, jabbing Edward’s shoulder with a finger. “I’m the failure here; you’ve never done anything other than exceed my expectations. I mean, there’s- There’s never been anyone like you in all the history of the world! You mustn’t say such things about yourself, Edward. I won’t let you.”

“Can’t a man have his moment of self-pity every now and then?” Edward asks; he smiles as he does. _All is forgiven,_ he doesn’t need to say. He’ll let Jack off the hook for leaving him behind.

If he knows Edward at all (and more than two hundred years after their temperate first meeting, they know each other better than anyone else), the issue wasn’t ever Jack abandoning him. Edward approves of abandonment in extenuating circumstances; centuries ago, in this very building, he ordered Jack to leave him behind. Crippled by radiation. Unable to even wave goodbye. But strong enough to make sure Jack left, before the land became a hunting ground for desperate men with more guns than mercy.

Radiation. The silent opponent; he gave it some thought, back when Edward’s life, and then Edward’s continued sanity, depended on the science. But Lorenzo was always the first priority, and Jack hasn’t so much as glanced at his old research in decades. Shame, really. He enjoyed it. The challenges it posed, easily as satisfying to his mind as those of the Serum and the Artefact- but with none of the emotional turmoil. What a shame, to leave good research incomplete.

 “What’s it like?” Jack asks, turning to lean his chin on Edward’s shoulder. It’s very solid. Just the right height, with the way he’s slumped. Very considerate. “Being a ghoul. Is it…nice?”

Edward snorts with laughter. “Way to go change the topic. You know, you’ve never asked me that before. _No_ , Jack, sticking me with all kinds of instruments doesn’t count.”

“Yes, but at the time I was terrified of losing you,” Jack says. “I thought, with science- I did the only thing I knew to do. Forgive me.”

“Done.” Edward goes quiet, expression grown thoughtful. “It’s not so bad. Hurts like a bitch at the start, and that lasts for a few years- but you get through that, things pick up. Shame we all look like shrivelled up raisins, but that’s life. The rads immunity is nice. And not getting old. Means I can actually keep up with you.”

“You’ll overtake me, soon enough. Now the Serum’s gone.”

“I was trying not to think about it. Thanks.”

“It wouldn’t be _that_ difficult to make a new one,” Jack says carefully. He’s relieved to find that one portion of his mind still functions. The science is simple: radiation in controlled, diluted doses, carefully targeted, and he’s run thousands of simulations based on all the ghouls who have allowed him to examine them over the last few centuries. He’s certain he could make it work. “The entire process would take about a month, in a laboratory environment- but really, there is so much more I have to offer the scientific world, it would be a shame to let a simple thing like a human life span stop me.”

Edward stiffens. “You want to go ghoul.” His tone is abruptly blank, empty of emotion.

“Is it so strange?” Scientifically possible, and beneficial to the world as a whole. Jack believes this. He pushes against the solid steel wall that was Edward ten seconds ago, looking for a chink in the armour. “There’s so much I haven’t done yet. So many places I haven’t seen, experiments I haven’t run- I could track down Father’s ruins, in Arabia. Or venture out west and search the wasteland for ancient cities. Or specialise in some way; I’m sure there’s much to be learnt from radiation, if one is possessed of a clear head and a good laboratory.”

But, of course, Edward doesn’t like Cabot House. He wouldn’t want to remain there. He may never want to return there again, laboratory or not.

“I could make a new one,” Jack amends. “That might be for the best. A new work space, somewhere I’ve never been. No need for interruptions from our work when Mother starts rounding up players for a game of faro, eh?”

“Go back to the part where you turn yourself into a ghoul,” Edward says rigidly. “Jack. This isn’t another experiment. You can’t fool around with this and then put it aside; you can’t reverse this. It’s serious-”

“Well, obviously I’m aware of _that_ ,” Jack says. “And if you’re about to start listing side effects at me, I’d like to point out that I was probably the first person in the world to document them in a scientific manner. I know what the changes will be. You needn’t lecture.”

“It’s more than losing a bit of cartilage off your face,” Edward says.

“Yes, I know-”

“The world changes too. You ever been treated like a second-class citizen, Jack?” Edward’s expression is all distaste, bordering on the bitter. “People like me are less than human, and the neighbours let us _know_. Everyone does. It’s not an easy life, and especially not for someone like you.”

“I just killed my father,” Jack says.

It might not have been the right thing to say. But it’s his first reaction, a knee-jerk to the implication that _difficult_ is not something he might be able to overcome. It angers him more than he would have expected. Yes, Edward has spent more time out in the world than him; more time among the rougher specimens of humanity, and maybe that justifies something of his caution.

But the first time he asked Jack to learn the ways and means of a gun, Jack obeyed. Assigned himself regular practice sessions, and stuck to them. Obeyed all of Edward’s orders during their travels, including the _don’t talk to that man_ and _stay behind me_ , and the ever irksome _don’t touch that._ He can learn. He’s spent lifetimes learning.

“Sorry,” Edward says quietly. “You’re right. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the thought of looking at you and seeing a ghoul.”

“Would it be that much of a problem?” Jack touches Edward’s hand, smooth like parchment. Skin stretched tight over his bones, like catgut violin string. He’s sketched these hands a few hundred times, over the centuries. They never cease to fascinate him.

“Just picturing Wilhelmina’s reaction,” Edward says. “There’s a pretty good chance she’ll kick you out. Emogene won’t care, but Mrs Cabot’s more…traditional. Took her long enough to get used to me. What are you going to do if you don’t have your family anymore?”

“Well,” Jack says. “I’ll have you. That’s an excellent start in my books.”

It’s so rare to see Edward stunned. His eyes widen in a truly satisfying way, and Jack is not much of a photographer, but he wishes he’d thought far enough into the future to capture this moment. Edward, staring at him like a man with two heads.

“Assuming you’re amenable, of course,” Jack adds, for fairness’ sake.

“I didn’t say no,” Edward snaps at him, and his tone has all the bite of a toothless adder. “But we both know _that’s_ not something you’ll get away with. You go ahead and tell your mother you’ve been screwing the help; see where it gets you.”

“Technically, it was ‘the help’ screwing _me_.”

“Tell her that too,” Edward says. “I bet she’ll be really gracious about it.”

 _What a frightening idea,_ Jack thinks. There must be something terribly wrong with him; he’s actually tempted by it. Mother would never forgive him, but she’s unlikely to do so anyway. He killed Lorenzo. Murdered his helpless father, and he can’t even muster up much in the way of sincere guilt.

The light-headedness is passing; now, he mostly just feels light.

“We could always elope,” he says happily. “I have enough Serum to last me until I can set up another laboratory, if you’d prefer to marry me as I am right now. I have no preferences on the matter. I’ll even let you choose the venue.”

“Nowhere with too many flowers,” Edward says. He still sounds dazed. “You have allergies.”

“And you have an aversion to anywhere too ornate.”

“That’s just my lower class prejudice talking,” Edward tells him. “Goddammit, Jack. You had to go and spring this on me.”

“You’re welcome to think about it. We have all the time in the world.”

“Oh, I’m saying yes,” Edward says. “Obviously. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you proposed to me in a pool of my own blood. Classy, Jack. Has _you_ written all over it.”

“I can always ask again somewhere nicer,” Jack says. “Maybe I will. On a hillside, under the stars.”

“Risky.”

“Yes,” Jack agrees. “But it would make us both terribly happy.” 

They’ll move when they feel ready; stagger out into the evening, and Edward will watch their backs while Jack locks the front door to Parsons for the last time. The lock won’t last, but the lock doesn’t matter. It’s the gesture. Gestures are important to people. Locked doors and night-time proposals. Taking the slowest route to Cabot House so they’ll have time to negotiate the fluid form of their new relationship.

The details are still hazy. But what is life without adventure? Science without curiosity? Freedom isn’t such a frightening concept after all.

“We’re free, Edward,” Jack says. He feels almost giddy. He grins at Edward, and gets an eye-roll and a resigned smile in return. “We can do anything we please. How marvellous.”

“It’s not a bad feeling,” Edward agrees. “Be nice to try something different for a while.”

 _Wonderful,_ Jack thinks, as Edward squeezes his hand with parchment-fingers. _A promising concept. I look forward to exploring it to the best of my abilities._

First things first: he needs to find a suitable hill.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the [Fallout Wiki timeline](http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline#2051) for some of the history here. The US invaded Mexico in 2051 to seize its oil refineries. By 2052 there was an energy crisis (which Jack doesn't notice). Edward was hired in 2058, according to Jack's diary.
> 
> Happy birthday to the flawless Spacehussy! Three months late is better than never, right?
> 
>  **EDIT:** The wonderful chibikinesis [made FAN ART](http://chibikinesis.tumblr.com/post/148219814819/finally-finished-this-monster-3-this-piece-is) for this fic, and it's blowing my mind. Please go and shower this wonderful artist with love!


End file.
